


Day's End

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, amoral!Snape, issues of consent, troilism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day of the week, a different Snape fucks Harry. Then Saturday comes…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day's End

**Author's Note:**

> Endless smooches to [](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/profile)[**seatbeltdrivein**](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/) , [](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/profile)[**keppiehed**](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://ratherbsailing.livejournal.com/profile)[**ratherbsailing**](http://ratherbsailing.livejournal.com/) for their hard work and amazing feedback.

Snape rolled his eyes as Marcus Flint asked Harry if he liked it, if he was a dirty boy, if he needed a spanking…

Honestly. Was there no imagination among youths these days?

That was what Mondays were normally like, though. It was Harry's slow day. Snape didn’t usually ask for money in return, but Flint wasn’t someone Snape would have ever allowed to use Harry otherwise, and this was precisely why.

It was rather strange, seeing a man Polyjuiced as himself on that bed, between his lover's pale and slender thighs… seeing his own cock pierce Harry's eager body.

It made him reach down and grab his cock, eyes unwavering as he watched through the spelled wall.

Part of him couldn’t wait until the next day, even as Harry was being pummelled in a very energetic jackrabbit fuck. Merlin—had Flint never had sex before? The only erotic thing about watching this was the look on Harry's face.

Harry always looked so surprised. Of course he did—he had no idea he wasn't fucking Snape, who, in his mind, was the most versatile lover in the world. Ranging from day to day in his passion, his eagerness, his longevity, his sensitivity—varying in how much he talked, how hard he fucked, how much he hurt Harry, or whether he let Harry come.

Snape only fucked Harry on Wednesdays, though.

It used to be the other way around. Snape used to have sex with him every other day of the week and only let someone else fuck him on one day.

It all began with Lucius Malfoy.

Then it was two days. Day two, Tuesdays, went to Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a masterful Dom, and he loved showing Harry his place. Snape never came harder than when watching Harry worship Blaise's cock or struggle against his restraints.

That started an itch. With Lucius, it was because his friend had begged him—and Malfoys never beg. Just once, he'd said, offering love and money and everything in between.

From the moment Lucius had slid home, a look of exquisite triumph on his features—Snape's own features—Snape had been hooked.

Thursdays were always interesting. Gregory Goyle had a grudge and wasn’t afraid to show it. Wearing Snape's face, he punished Harry with every stroke of his cock. Snape had tried to talk to him about his obvious anger issues, but Goyle had shrugged him off. It was what Vincent would have wanted, he said. And so Snape let him abuse his lover—after, Snape would wash Harry in the bath while convincing him that of course he wasn’t angry.

Fridays belonged to Zacharias Smith. Snape couldn’t stand the boy, but there was something immensely satisfying about watching him fuck Harry, knowing how much Harry despised him. Snape allowed it to continue, even though Smith was a boring fuck, because Smith liked to humiliate Harry. Call him names, talk down to him, even slap him around a little. Snape almost always came twice.

After Thursday and Friday, Saturday was always a relief to Harry. But not to Snape. He frowned, not wanting to think about that.

Snape came as Flint yanked back Harry's hair and spit in his mouth.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Harry. He did. As much as he knew how and more than he'd ever expected. He couldn’t bring himself to do the things that these other men did with his Harry. He sometimes wondered if he could be rough, could be demanding, could be threatening, could be violent… but he didn’t think so. Sometimes, on his Wednesdays, he tried. But it wasn’t long before he'd begun to notice that Harry didn’t come as hard on Wednesdays, didn’t shout as loud, didn’t pant as long.

Once, Snape had asked him about it. Why, sometimes, he was less 'into it'. Harry had replied that it didn’t have to be perfect all the time.

He didn’t realise how mortally he'd insulted Snape, of course, but Snape had never been able to forget. Was he punishing Harry for something that Harry had no idea about? Maybe a little.

Flint got up to go for a shower, something Snape insisted all the men say. They left through a connected door and Snape himself got into the shower, returning just as Harry was beginning to sit up.

"You really did a number on my arse," Harry said with a small smile.

"You loved it," Snape said, half wishing Harry would deny it and end the whole thing. Snape swore to himself that he would—as soon as Harry asked him _not_ to fuck him a certain way, he'd end it all and it would just be him and Harry again.

But Harry never asked.

 **Saturday…**

Snape hated Saturdays. Still, he had to watch. He might not have liked the situation, but he still got off on it.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco had gotten the story out of Lucius—how, Snape would never know. Draco had shown up at Snape's house and Harry had answered the door.

All through dinner, Draco had made allusions and innuendos, all while Harry sat there, oblivious. Finally, Snape had hauled Draco outside and cast a Silencing Spell around them both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Snape had asked, unwilling to lose what had become a necessity.

"I want in."

"Absolutely not." Snape was sure of his place in Harry's heart, but there was sometimes a _look_ on his face when he mentioned Draco. Snape wouldn’t risk it.

"I want in or I'll tell him everything. And don't even think about killing me—upon my death, the whole story gets out. Straight to the _Daily Prophet._ "

Snape loved Harry. Harry _might_ have forgiven him the Polyjuice betrayals, but he'd never forgive being humiliated like that in front of the entire world. A part of Snape knew that Harry wouldn’t forgive him _any_ of it, but he didn’t spend much time thinking on that.

Draco had him by the balls and he knew it. He hadn’t even been able to convince him to take an Unbreakable Vow to never tell Harry.

It wasn’t just that. Draco was a greedy prick and a spoiled brat to boot, but it was so much worse.

Saturdays were Harry's favourite days.

Draco was almost as varied as the rest of the men put together. Some visits he was tender, some he was rough, always he was passionate. Harry always came twice on Saturdays.

On workdays, Snape's charade was easier to manage. Instead of Snape coming home from the apothecary, it was the Polyjuiced imposter. Snape would Apparate directly into the bathroom, which was under a permanent Silencing Spell, _for privacy._ The other man would lead Harry into the bedroom and fuck him. It had been going on for so long that Harry was used to the routine of fucking right when Snape got home from work. It was just what they did.

Weekends were more difficult. Snape would have to go out to the store for something and then tell Harry he didn’t need to come.

Two things would always surprise Snape about Harry. He never, ever pushed for more information, more time, more anything. And he never, ever turned Snape down for sex.

Any other man would have been thrilled.

Harry walked into the bedroom, followed by Draco looking like Snape. Snape watched through the spelled wall and unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall, his pants soon after. He hated the foreplay that Draco always submitted him to. Stroking Harry's hair, kissing his neck, licking along his spine—all the way down, something Snape refused to do.

Harry was trembling in only a few minutes. Draco brought him closer to the edge faster than any other man. It was astounding to watch, from a clinical perspective. He didn’t appear to be doing anything too different, really.

This would be a tender day, Snape knew. Draco was taking his time. He always pushed it entirely too close to the allotted hour. It gave Snape heartburn.

Draco finished rimming Harry and turned him onto his back, kissing him. Snape shuddered as Harry eagerly kissed back, seeming to relish in his own taste, or maybe just the taboo of it. Draco worked his way down Harry's body, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, stopping at his nipples and biting them away from his body. Harry arched—

Harry never arched with Snape.

Draco nosed Harry's pubic area before sucking him into his mouth. Harry's head fell back, his mouth open. He came quickly—he always did on Saturdays. His fingers slid into Draco's—Snape's—hair and tugged him up urgently. Then Harry was kissing Draco. Snape didn’t like that—he liked it when the men did things to Harry, not when Harry did things to them.

It wasn’t long—but too long for Snape's taste—before Draco was slicking Harry's hole and sliding home. They both paused, looking into each other's eyes for a sickening moment. What did Harry see, Snape wondered. Even though they were his eyes, his body, his cock, did Harry feel different? Did he sense anything?

They rocked together, and it wasn’t fucking. It was making love. Snape put away his wilted cock and glared at the couple. Harry hadn’t moved his eyes from Draco's face the entire time—Draco was staring right back, seeming entranced.

Snape sneered. It was almost enough to make him want to barge in and stop it all—but he never would.

Harry came again, crying out in a way Snape hadn't heard before. Draco's sounds were more familiar, in his own voice as they were.

They lingered together. Snape's alarm went off. Only a few minutes left. Draco wouldn’t risk it—if he did, Harry would never see him again and Draco obviously had some feelings for him.

The time wound down. With a minute to go, Snape was desperate. He cast a spell to imitate a knocking on the front door. Harry looked toward the bedroom door but then brought his eyes back to Draco, who kissed him softly.

Snape made books fall off the shelves. He started a fire in the kitchen.

He would have to Stun Draco—his form would stay Snape's and Snape could say Draco was a rapist—Harry would rightfully ask Snape all manner of questions, which he would be able to answer because he _was_ Harry's lover.

He tried for the bathroom door.

It wouldn’t open.

Snape screamed in frustration and even though he knew they couldn’t hear him, Draco turned to look directly at the mirror. Their eyes met.

The Polyjuice wore off.

The end.


End file.
